Girl in a Bad Place

by Kaitlin Ward

  She sighs. “Did you forget that being a vegan means no dairy?”

  “Oh, right. I forgot about that.”

  “Yeah. I’m guessing your vegan diet didn’t last too long, then?”

  Of course. We haven’t talked about this at all. I didn’t even think to mention it in the wake of my departure preparations before camp.

  “No, I decided to do some more research into it,” I tell her. “Turns out, some of the stuff on that website was misleading. I’m not saying that there’s nothing at all valid in deciding not to eat meat and stuff, but I decided that for me, when I had looked at all the evidence … I disagree with Firehorse’s take on it. So I’m going to keep eating meat and dairy.”

  I know before I’ve finished talking that she’s mad. Her eyes practically burn holes into my face.

  “So you’re saying I’m an idiot who didn’t do any research, basically?” Her tone is even, but it’s like being stared in the face by a venomous snake. It hasn’t struck yet, but you know it’s just waiting for you to move.

  “Obviously I wasn’t saying that! I’m just—I decided not to do it, that’s all.” I take a deep breath and decide to go for broke, honesty-wise. “I don’t think Firehorse is wrong about everything, but I also think that he’s overdramatizing when he says that the government is propagandizing us, and that we’re all ignorant. I mean, maybe they’re trying, who knows. It’s not like our government is so great right now. But we have the Internet and stuff. We can talk to people from all over and make up our own minds. And I feel like by giving us that totally biased website, Firehorse was doing exactly what he says the government does. I’m sorry, Cara, I know you like his ideas, and that’s fine. But I think he’s manipulative.”

  She explodes out of the chair, crossing her arms furiously. “He’s manipulative? Let’s be real, Mailee, who convinced you not to be vegan? Gavin couldn’t possibly have had anything to do with it, could he?”

  “He didn’t—only a little. He didn’t tell me not to, he just pointed out some of the things in those videos that were lies. And he told me to do my own research.”

  She’s hitting on something I’m already worried about—did I let my boyfriend manipulate me the same way she’s letting Firehorse manipulate her?—and it infuriates me. The two feel very different. Gavin has a personal stake in this, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He didn’t tell me I couldn’t make my own decision. He just told me I should look at it from all sides. And I did. I really did. Besides, I don’t want to give up meat and dairy and eggs. I love those things. It should be up to me what I eat or don’t eat, not some guy who lives in the woods.

  “Exactly. If you want to talk emotional manipulation, it’s your boyfriend who lives on a ranch telling you not to listen to Firehorse. I’ve done my research, too, you know.” She clutches at her necklace, and I hold my tongue because I don’t want to be fighting and any criticisms I make about that thing are only going to worsen all this. I’m not an expert, either. Anything I say is opinion, just like anything Cara says. “Firehorse isn’t wrong. Do you even know how messed up everything is in our world right now? We are heading down a really bad path, and Firehorse is not the enemy here. Why can’t you see that?”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I can see how messed up the world is. It’s just … the more you think about stuff he says, the more you seem to be totally into what he’s saying. And that’s fine. But for me, the more I’ve thought about the things he says, the less they make sense to me. I guess we just aren’t going to agree on this.”

  Her eyes fill with tears. “I guess we’re not.”

  “Let’s change the subject,” I plead. This argument is making my stomach hurt.

  “I think I actually want to be alone right now.” Cara’s voice quivers, but the rest of her is steady.

  “But—”

  “I’ll call you after I’m home from my trip. Once I feel settled back in.”

  “Cara. This was by far not our worst fight. And now—”

  “The fact that you think this is not our worst fight just proves how much I need you to get out of my room right now.”

  “I—”

  “Now.”

  I guess there’s nothing for me to do but leave. Feeling like I’m trapped in a nightmare, I slide off the chair and head unsteadily for the door. My eyes sting and I’m shaking.

  “And take the ice cream,” she says icily, just as I’m passing through her doorway. “Please.”

  Part of me expects her to come after me, stop me before I’ve left the house. I open the freezer loudly so she knows I’m still here, and do the same when I open—and close—her front door. Nothing. When I get to my car, I turn back for a moment, look toward her window. She’s not there. Not even watching me leave.

  I don’t understand why she’s this mad. I am completely blindsided by what just happened between us. She said she would call me after she gets back from her trip, and I really hope that, despite her tone, she will. If she doesn’t, I’ll call her. I’ll beg for her forgiveness for whatever it is that I did wrong here.

  I cry the entire way home, because this doesn’t feel like a fight at all.

  This feels like a breakup.

  I’m a moping mess for the next couple days. My emotions journal gets several new entries about different kinds of sadness and angst. Gavin tries to cheer me up, but I’m irrationally mad at him, as though he somehow caused this with his reasonableness. I don’t want him to know how irrational I’m being, though, so when he invites me over on Wednesday, I go.

  His family’s ranch is a beautiful place. The house is log, with a big stone fireplace, and the barn is red with one of those arched roofs—a total barn stereotype. Though there are also some other barn-like structures out behind it that aren’t as picturesque. But with the fields that go on and on and on, where the cows roam, the place is like something from a storybook.

  Gavin’s mom is heading into their house when I arrive, a bucket full of blackberries clutched in one hand. She gives me a friendly wave with the other, which I return.

  “Gavin’s in the barn,” she says, and then continues indoors.

  I like Gavin’s mom. She’s very nice, but she’s not much of a talker. Part of me thinks it’s that she doesn’t see me as a long-term prospect for her son. He’s going to stay here and take over the ranch, and I’m going to move to a big city far away. Which is something I’ve shoved deep into the back pocket of my brain; lately, it’s the absolute last thing I want to think about. When I think about the future with Gavin, I’m deluding myself that we can totally make it work long distance when the time comes.

  My boyfriend is easy enough to find; he’s standing in what they refer to as the “hospital”—which is just a series of pens that hold cows who need special attention. His forearms rest on the top bar of the metal gate in front of the pen, and he’s watching a cow within.

  When he sees me, he greets me with a smile and a kiss.

  “What’s going on here?” I ask.

  “She’s having a baby.” He points to the back end of the cow (not usually the part of a cow I want to look at) and sure enough, there are tiny hooves sticking out of there.

  “Well that doesn’t look fun.” I wrinkle my nose.

  Gavin laughs. “I suspect it’s not.”

  We both watch the cow in silence for a few minutes. It’s not real exciting, to be honest. She’s mostly just lying there.

  “How’re you doing?” Gavin asks.

  “I’m okay.” I grip the red-painted metal bar in front of me. I promised myself that I would be okay today. But I’m a little shaky.

  “Are you?” Gavin presses.

  The cow lets out a grunt of unhappiness and I’m inclined to agree with her. Tears sting my eyes and I blink them back fiercely.

  “Today’s the anniversary of Harper’s death,” I say. “It’s just … getting to me more than I expected. With Cara mad at me and everything. Last year
I was so focused on helping Cara through it, I didn’t have much time to, like, sit and think about everything. I don’t know. Harper was a big part of my life, too. It’s been—it’s just not easy, sometimes. She was six years old. It’s so unfair.”

  Gavin pulls me to his chest. He doesn’t say anything, which I appreciate. Words don’t fix this kind of thing, no matter how well meaning. I let him hold me until I feel calm again.

  “Can we stay here and watch this calf be born?” I ask. “I’ve never seen anything be born before.”

  “Sure, if that’s what you want to do. I’ve gotta warn you, though, sometimes it takes a while.”

  He looks pleased that I’m interested. It feels pretty nice to actually please someone for a change.

  More of the calf is showing now; its nose and forelegs peek out. Gavin explains that this is the part that sometimes takes a while, and once the rest of the head comes out, the rest of the calf will follow soon after. The cow is being impressively chill about this situation, in my opinion. She definitely doesn’t seem happy about what’s going on, and can’t seem to decide if she wants to stand or lie down, but she’s handling it like a pro.

  “I hope Cara’s doing okay,” I say, because I can’t get out of my own head. “On her vacation. Last year she came back from that trip so broken.”

  And last year I helped her through it. But this year … I’m afraid she won’t even let me try.

  “Maybe … ” Gavin pauses. “Listen, I really hate that I’m about to say this, but maybe all this new stuff she’s into will help her handle everything this year. The placebo effect can be a pretty strong thing.”

  I think of Cara’s new necklace, protecting her from toxins or whatever. “I guess. I hope so.” I tap my nails on the metal bar. Part of me secretly hopes not. So that she needs me. I’m awful. “Do you think she’s done with me?”

  “What? That’s a ridiculous question, Mailee.”

  “Is it?”

  Gavin reaches for my hand. “I haven’t known Cara very long, but I know your friendship isn’t one-sided. And maybe I don’t know what’s going on with her this summer, but the problem’s not you. I promise.”

  I wish that made me feel better. But there’s more to it, things I can’t say to Gavin because he’s my boyfriend and he doesn’t need to know how desperately insecure I am deep inside. How much I need gestures, overt signs, to know how much a person likes me, or else I’m forever questioning it. Even Cara. Especially Cara. She’s prettier than me, smarter, better. I’ve been waiting our whole friendship for her to realize it and I’m starting to worry that the day has finally come.

  “She thinks she needs this new diet and this protection from air toxins and the firm schedule of that commune, but she doesn’t,” I tell him. “She needs to talk about what’s wrong and actually fix it instead of covering it up with this stuff.” I feel like a bitter hag talking about Cara like this, but it’s true. She’s not dealing.

  “Hey, it’s happening.” Gavin points to the cow, and I turn my attention back to the pen.

  A newborn calf comes sliding into the world, slimy but adorable. The cow stands up and starts aggressively licking it clean. The calf tries to stand, too, but its legs aren’t quite steady yet.

  “You know what, it’s pretty nice to see new life come into the world today,” I say. Watching the little calf with its mom makes me feel better in a way that talking about things hasn’t. Who even knows why. “I’m sorry, though. I feel like I’m being a major downer.”

  “You’re allowed,” Gavin says, flashing me a heart-melting smile.

  “I’m really lucky I have you.”

  He kisses me; the sort of kiss I feel all the way down to my toes.

  “Not as lucky as I am,” he says.

  We kiss again, melding together, and it is one of those moments I know is going to stick with me, because it feels so perfect.

  Until my phone rings, shattering the mood.

  “It’s Cara,” I say, surprised. Gavin nods encouragingly and I step away to answer it.

  “Can you come over?” Her voice is weak, heavy with tears.

  “Come over? Where are you?”

  “I’m home. I pretended to have a stomach virus yesterday so my parents would go without me. Can you just come over?”

  “Yeah, of course. I’ll be there in a few.”

  We hang up, and I turn to Gavin. “Cara didn’t go on her vacation, and she needs me to go over to her house, I guess.”

  He nods again, less enthusiastic this time. I know he’s disappointed that I’m leaving, and that makes me feel terrible. But I can’t ignore a phone call from my sobbing best friend, can I?

  “I’ll call you after?” I say in a small voice.

  “Yeah, sounds good.” His smile is warm, but tiny.

  Before I go, I kiss him again, put my whole self into it. And it’s nearly impossible to tear myself away.

  Cara’s not in her bedroom when I get to her house, but I didn’t expect her to be. She’s in Harper’s. About nine months ago, Cara’s mom decided she couldn’t stand leaving the room as it was anymore; she donated clothes and stuffed animals and toys, stored or threw away anything that was too damaged to donate. She repainted, and took down the drawings of dragons and princesses and wild animals that Harper had proudly displayed on the walls. And then she turned it into a guest room. That no one ever sleeps in.

  Cara’s sitting on the bed, which besides a single nightstand is the only piece of furniture in this barren, stale room. Her face is tear-streaked, her eyes swollen and red, but she isn’t crying, not right now.

  “I wasn’t really ready to talk to you,” she says, which isn’t the greeting I wanted. “But I just … needed someone.”

  I swallow my pride and my insecurities and I go to her, because this is not the time to hash out whatever’s going on between us. “What do you need me to do?” I ask, cautiously squeezing an arm around her shoulders.

  “I don’t know.” She drops her face into her hands. “I couldn’t stand to go through a whole vacation with my parents.”

  “I don’t blame you.” I bite my lip, trying to come up with something good to say. Something healing. Something even remotely helpful. “I’ve been kind of sad today, too. I can only imagine how it must feel for you.”

  She looks up at me, almost perplexed. “You feel sad about it, too?”

  “Of course. She may not have been my sister, but she was in my life for a really long time, Cara.”

  “Wow.” She wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “Honestly, I think I needed to hear that from someone. Like, that I’m not the only one who misses her. My parents have done such a good job this year erasing every bit of her from our lives. We don’t even have any pictures of her on the walls anymore.”

  I squeeze my arm around her even tighter, a knot untying in my chest. I said the right thing, somehow, and maybe I’m starting to mend us.

  “You can always talk to me about her,” I say. “You can talk to me about anything, you know that.”

  Her expression sours. This time, I said the wrong thing. “Not anything.”

  She closes her fist around that pendant she’s wearing.

  “We can still talk about anything even if we don’t agree on every last detail,” I say, trying to sound gentle rather than frustrated.

  “I wanted to go to the Haven today,” she says, not looking at me. “But they go out foraging on Wednesdays, so no one’s there.”

  Jealousy rises up, sick and ugly in my stomach. What could they do for her that I can’t? “Well, I’m here,” I say. “And we can do anything you want.”

  “I want to go see Avalon,” she says softly.

  And the puzzle pieces all click into place. “Avalon’s not Harper,” I say gently.

  That was not just the wrong thing to say—it was the most wrong thing to say.

  “I know that.” Her voice is pure ice. “When are you going to stop acting like I’m delusional, Mailee?”

>   I edge away from her. “I’m not! That’s not what I’m doing at all. I’m just saying, you can’t replace Harper with Avalon. It’s not going to make you feel better.”

  “I’m not replacing her,” Cara snarls. “God, Mailee, you are just not getting this at all.”

  “Clearly not.” I stand up, because I feel like I’m going to cry and I don’t need her to see it.

  “What are you doing?”

  I take a deep breath and turn back bravely to face her. “I’m leaving. Because I’m not going to sit here and fight with you today. It’s not what either one of us needs.”

  For about two seconds, I feel really mature and brave and right.

  And then Cara says, “Fine. But don’t come crawling to me tomorrow with an apology thinking everything will be fixed. In fact, don’t call me at all. I’ll call you when I’m ready. If I’m ready.”

  I swallow hard, but I don’t say anything in response. I just leave.

  This has been the longest week and a half of my life. Cara and I have never gone this many days without speaking. It’s quite honestly a miracle that I’ve managed to keep from calling her, and I’ve only succeeded because every time I have the urge, I text Gavin instead with some variation of, Has it been long enough? Should I call her?? He always tells me not to. Patiently.

  On that note, it’s also a miracle that Gavin hasn’t killed me yet.

  Right now, I’m at Samantha’s house, sitting on her bedroom floor. Margaret is here, too, and together they are a terrible influence on me.

  “Gavin is wrong,” says Sam. “No offense to him, but he’s, like, always polite. And he totally does not understand the intricacies of female friendships.”

  “So you think I should call Cara? She said not to. And she was pretty mad the last time I saw her. The last two times I saw her.”

  “You need to call her,” says Margaret. “She’s probably embarrassed now about how bad she overreacted and figures you’ve been festering about it and is afraid to call you.”

  Cara would never be afraid to call. I actually think Gavin’s right; Cara was so angry and so firm before. I don’t think she’d want me to call. But I really, really want to. It’s the worst when the thing you want to do and the thing you should do aren’t matching up.